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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26284126">Letters to a Friend.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pdot1123/pseuds/pdot1123'>pdot1123</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:14:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,512</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26284126</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pdot1123/pseuds/pdot1123</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>My personal musings on the matters which matter the most to me, as well as nuggets of wisdom I have attempted to wisen you with, to someone's dismal dismay.</p><p>By Brian "pdot1123" Pierce</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Letter I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To Whom it may concern</p><p>I have recently learned a great deal about life, in a short period, so short in fact, it surprises both myself and that mysterious force which sees through all eyes. However, Something I have learned, of many things, is that you are in no way obligated to be the same person you were but a moment ago. No one of any importance shall hold it against you for changing yourself by the hour.</p><p>I have also learned, the hard way, that you will connect with many people, and you will grow to be interested in some of those people, their stories, their lives, their lies. But the majority of these people will not stay, and of that number, most of them will forget you in a year. What you can hope, and what I do as well, is that you will have learned more of yourself, and who you want to be, and less of pain and sorrow. There is much more I have learned, and little of it I have the words to describe, nor the confidence to exhume upon the Internet those half-baked thoughts, so I shall say my goodbyes and write to you again, hopefully, shortly.</p><p>Au revoir, and yours truly,<br/>Brian "pdot1123" Pierce.</p><p>P.S Though I know neither your name, nor your face, nor even if you have read this while I am alive (assuming the Internet is permanent) I know you will have a great day, though it may not be tomorrow, or the next, you will have a truly spectacular day, even if it does not come soon enough.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Letter II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear friend.</p><p> </p><p>I have learned a great deal in my short time on this Earth, and I will learn a great deal more before it is done, and while I hope I have gotten a discount for the future, I wish I had acquired the wisdom I have now at less of a price. But, like all young men, and women too, I was foolhardy and blind, and I am most surely foolhardy and blind still, but if nothing else, I hope, as you should too, to be slightly less foolish tomorrow, and see slightly better next week, otherwise I will feel as though my time will have been wasted, and this body, a mistake.</p><p>Auf Wiedersehen, and Yours Truly</p><p>Brian "pdot1123" Pierce.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Letter III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I have found that these letters are better for me than they are for you, as they allow me to peer into my psyche (though that may allow you to peer into it as well, no?). That is important for, I have learned, it does not matter what the rest of the world thinks of you, as long as you are satisfied with the way you live. I know, a cliche lesson, but I had grappled with it for some time because there is a hidden lesson. If you do not feel satisfied with who you are, you are both obligated, and encouraged to change, no-matter-what. That is something I needed in life, and suspect you may need, though I may be wrong. (As I have been many times before!)</p><p> </p><p>Stay safe, and your's truly,<br/>Brian "pdot1123" Pierce</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Letter IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Perhaps you have heard it 100 times before, but an important lesson of life is to cherish the ones you love for in a moment they can be gone.</p><p>I wish I had learned this sooner. When I was, I believe 10 years old, my grandmother went to Heaven (or so I hope). I had spent my 8th and 9th years in a-bout of being a shut-in (perhaps that was a prelude to my current situation as a true NEET) rarely initiating conversations with my parents (though I did not do that much in the first place) let alone visiting my grand-parents. So, when my parents sat me down on the couch and explained to me that my grandmother had passed, I was unphased. I had not yet grasped the meaning of "she is dead". Yet, on the day of her funeral, as I sat in the front row my Grandfather, a widower and my Father, her favorite of her 2 sons., staring at a man in gold-and-white, speaking in a funny language I did not understand, who I have, after many years, realized was a priest, drowning in the miasma of sorrow and mourning of a dearly beloved woman, did I break down crying.</p><p>I still do not know why, though. Perhaps it was the choir being too loud, or perhaps the thick bog of everyone's grief. Maybe it was me finally being hit with how my grandmother, a woman who had given me years of my life that she (a woman who had an experimental brain tumor treatment performed on her, which left her walking impaired, and made her susceptible to dementia) would never have herself, being dead. Gone to a world I would not see for, perhaps even a century, and I had squandered the precious time with her for video games, Youtube, and junk food.</p><p>I am not a pious man, and sometimes I have been critical of those faithful to any God(s).<br/>But I pray as you should too, that you get to spend every moment feasible with those you care most about. So, once you are done your mourning, you may clear the tears from your eyes, and know that, in your memories, they will live on, happy and lovely and good as those days you spent with them. I, unfortunately, do not get those luxuries, and as I get older, I lose more memories, and many of those are of my dear Grandmother, and even remarking on that, makes my eyes flutter away wetness.</p><p>Do not fritter away those dear to you for any vanity.</p><p>Yours, truly, and with great love.</p><p>Brian "pdot1123" Pierce.<br/>P.S Grammarly is screaming at me to get premium to fix the myriad of issues in this rambly and ranty piece of work, but I am a poor man, so do excuse my poor education and many mistakes.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Letter V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear Friend.</p><p>Compromises. An important part of society. Take Compromises apart, you get Com and Promises. Comp(act)romises.<br/>You find the middle ground for what you and another party want, and you agree to it, more or less. I have found that, while compromises are a necessary part of life, for if you try to get everything, you will have expended all resources on the menial. However, make too many, and your gains will be negligible. I was not taught either of those lessons, and I'd guess many others were not either. Now, I have had to lesson the hard way, though I am lucky, for I have learned it earlier than some yet. While I am disappointed in myself in not learning this earlier, at the least I learned it at all.</p><p>I believe I said, in a previous letter, that I "wished I had gained wisdom at less of a price", and while that is true, I take solace in the fact I have gained wisdom. Many do not gain wisdom. They remain foolish and idiotic and will have lived a life without meaningful change. While I am sure I will live a similar life, I hope you do not, which is why I try to offer you my slight wisdom at a bargain-bin value. Though I can't quite say it's anything much, we should take what is handed to us in stride, even if it is a pittance.</p><p>Yours, truly and listlessly, <br/>Brian "pdot1123" Pierce</p><p>P.S I have decided to compile all the previous letters, for comfort.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Letter VI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear Friend.</p><p>"Such is life." -Ned Kelly, 11th of November 1880.</p><p>This is a quote I've come back to upon many occasions. If you're not familiar, Ned Kelly was an Australian Bushranger (Australia's equivalent to a cowboy-gunslinger.) He was hung on the 11th of November, 1880, and "Such is life" is the last thing he ever said.<br/>He was given the chance to say anything. To curse his capturers, to damn the government, or his enemies. To pray to God, to do anything! And all he had to say was a simple melancholic phrase, lamenting his predicament as his head was placed in the noose.</p><p>I have taken his last words to heart, myself. A sorrowful, tear-jerking note, as to how swiftly life puts an end to you and yours. In this gloom, I have found some sense of tranquillity. No matter what you do, you are more likely than not to lose. To fall without any victories. Yet, in his defeat, Ned Kelly said something which would outlive everyone he ever knew and became a hero which would be more remembered than his executioners. I hope I can accomplish such a wonderful thing, in some way or another.</p><p>Such is life, but yours truly,</p><p>Brian "pdot1123" Pierce</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Letter VII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dearest Friend</p><p>I'm compelled to write to you know in a flurry of inspiration and panic, as I am terrified at the thought I will lose the passion I have now.<br/>
I am an American, I feel as though I have made that clear enough, though if it was not clear before I am sure it is now.<br/>
For many Americans, our identity comes from where our families are from, or the colors of our skin, whether that be a dark shade of brown, a deathly shade of pale, or something in-between. I feel as though I cannot express the irony of that, for a nation which is developed on immigrants looking to change their lives, so much of our society is based upon who we or our ancestors once were. </p><p>It is now that I shall speak upon the precarious nature of our politics. Our government and its people tentatively split between two incredibly hot-headed sides of a great divorce, the hard-headed elephant, and the stubborn mule. This thick momentous spell upon our people has burned not only the buildings for which we have created in our once mighty unity but our sense of brotherhood. It shames me to admit this so loudly, but we have abandoned our ideals of democracy, and instead have taken up metaphorical arms against our kin, and I am afraid that I am one of a hundred thousand who can say we see the possibility of taking up literal arms-guns, and swords, and uniforms.</p><p>"A house divided against itself cannot stand."<br/>
Is what Abraham Lincoln said so long ago we can not even name it, yet he was incredibly correct. I doubt I am the only one to see the similarities between the foreshadowing which would divide the Blue and Gray, and the storm which we suffer through now which would intend to send the Blue and Red to decimate one another: Leaders which would hasten our divide, rather than sew it back together, and a characteristically useless Congress.</p><p>I fear I am rambling, but only because I am laden with the fear that I shall see all those I love to be destroyed by a mighty war, so bloody, American soil has not seen it in 155 years. It is with this fear that I implore you if you are of America, fight the partisan rulers of our nation, mend the powerful wounds which leave us desperate for a reprieve. I hope you see within my words the love I hold for all of America, and how desperately I wish to see her thrive, and I pray you too shall see how much we must put an end to the turmoil which may not simply dust our shoulders, but may clog our throats and choke us to death.</p><p> </p><p>Yours truly, and most lovingly,</p><p>Brian  Pierce</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Letter VIII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear Friend.</p><p>This letter will not deal with the heavy subject matters of politics, and ideals. This is something personal solely to me.</p><p> </p><p>When I engaged in a somewhat routine social life, I was often told I looked tired. Whether that was because of the fact I often had bags under my eyes from the long nights of homelessness, my unkempt nature which made it appear as though I had just gotten out of bed, no matter how late in the day, or just me always looking considerably worse for wear on the days I was told I "looked tired" is up for debate.</p><p>I never could quite figure out how to tackle this-I often try to categorize and strategize situations, especially social ones, so I don't have to be bothered by the many inconveniences of not understanding people. But these three words "You look tired." I could never understand them, no matter how much I tried. Do I say "Haha, I know!" and blow it off? Do I say "How do you mean" and try and deduce the reasoning being my appearance, and defend it? What do I do?</p><p>I never did figure out the answer, which is quite a shame. Perhaps I would be writing about something else if I did. Perhaps I would have been asked "Are you okay?" and I would be writing about that instead. Perhaps, someone would have asked, and I would have broken down, and someone would finally see me for the shattered porcelain inside my soulless husk of a body.<br/>I can't quite say.</p><p> </p><p>Yours, truly, and with somber sobriety,</p><p>Brian "pdot1123" Pierce.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Letter IX</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dearest friend.</p><p>I have had little to write about, and little urge to write anyway. This is not to say I have little wisdom to share, or soothes to say, but rather, I know not how to properly speak them. So I will simply speak upon a phrase I have learned from an unlikely source, and deconstruct it, as I have done with another phrase which would be in near-memory.</p><p>"Where to now, and to what end?"<br/>The phrase comes from the colloquially named "All-Knowing Vortigaunt" from Half-Life 2, a rather beloved FPS game.<br/>For the Vortigaunts, this phrase refers to how far they are willing to go for their freedom, and what they are willing to sacrifice to achieve it, but the phrase can be used to refer to whatever goals you want to accomplish. </p><p>How far are you going to go, and what are you going to give up to get there?</p><p>Yours truly, and with odd postulations,</p><p>Brian "pdot1123" Pierce</p><p>P.S I do not expect to continue writing these letters for some period, as I feel rather tapped out, and desire to work on other, less creatively-driven projects, but I will attempt to keep this work up nonetheless. Well wishes!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Letter X</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dearest Friend</p><p>It would appear that these letters have found an audience of sorts, I hope, or at the very least the people who see them have begun to climb, which is a thing that is jubilating to see.</p><p>For this 10th letter, I have decided to write about the nature of people.  I believe that people are diverse and interesting, and all of us are cut from the cloth of our experiences. However, I postulate that there is one thing that unites all of us: our mutual love of hatred. </p><p>You may say, "Well, I don't like to hate things." That is in of itself the very nature of human hatred. We do not want to hate, yet, despite our best efforts, we continue to find a way to do so, and so, we rationalize that we must purge the very things we hate so that we hate them no longer. Where once, we could do very little to destroy what we hate, with the advent of the internet, and the ever furthering of means to indulge ourselves in the echo-chambers of what we love, we have become ever more toxic towards that which we hate. Like a bullet train, where once most of us had to tolerate what we despised, now we have every means to weaponize the world against what we hate.</p><p>In this unfortunate circumstance, where people grow more hateful and have more at their disposal to destroy, we have created a culture where we ignore our own "haters" and further indulge ourselves in ignorance, and our haters further indulge themselves in their ignorance. So, with that, we grow hateful of each other, and where once was criticism and critique, there is now a society of haters vs anti-haters (who in of themselves are haters.)</p><p>If this is not a cruel twist of fate, I know not any other example of such.  I am not sure of what best to say on this matter beyond its somberness, as I often do on other complex issues. Perhaps other, greater men, women, and other such individuals will find the solutions necessary to mend the great seams in this shared mortal coil.</p><p>If I am to leave you with any wisdom, let it be this: All that hate, all that energy we expunge into rage and anger and personal wars, would be better spent on further understanding what we hate, and critiquing it, while understanding its good values, and taking those to create a greater whole.</p><p>Your truly, and with a failing eloquence.<br/> Brian "pdot1123" Pierce</p><p>P.S I believe this 10th writing will be terrible in its failed English and poor grammar, and I beseech you to forgive me.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Letter XI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dearest Friend</p><p>I have lived a troubled life. The pseudo-depth my ten other letters attempted to get across hopefully painted a tenth of the pain I have gone through, although I am not comfortable with using the word pain, for I am odd.</p><p>Much of my trouble has come from my "oddness." Whether it was a curse at birth or a result of my parents, who often fought with each other more than they ever realized, even now, is up for debate. Nevertheless, to say "oddness" and "odd" is to compile my unhealthy psychological state, my self-destructive life philosophy, and my irregular standards for living. You could switch any of the adjectives and achieve the same result, which is to say, I am (excuse my French) fucked in the head.</p><p>I have struggled with coming to terms with this oddness, as I have struggled to come to terms with many things, due to this oddness. I wish I knew how to comfortably treat this plague upon my soul, but if I did, I would not be here writing about it. I have felt the need to write about it not to ask for help or to treat myself, but to merely help speak about what I mean, though I remain unsure of what I mean, most surely in this final paragraph.</p><p> </p><p>Yours, Truly and unsteadily,</p><p>Brian "pdot1123" Pierce</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Letter XII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dearest Friend.</p><p>This last week has been a blur for me. I have spent my nights playing games and watching Youtube, and my days, sleeping until night again. To say I have had a great time to think without anyone bother me is an understatement.</p><p>I have often felt a bit alone. After all, my odd personality has caused me to not understand people and be unable to make friends. I have taken my newfound alone-time to reflect on my life, and have come to conclude that I have always been sorrowfully alone.</p><p>Not in the literal sense, why, if I could choose to be all alone in the world, I would have a long time ago, but in the sense that there is no one entirely like me, that no one who has truly understood me in my life.  Perhaps this is teenage angst, and I hope it is, for the fear that I am alone is a truly terrifying thought that shakes me to my very core.</p><p> </p><p>Yours, possibly,</p><p>Brian "pdot1123" Pierce</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Letter XIII END</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I easily doubt anyone will grieve of my half-deranged ramblings, but that's the way it is, y'know?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear Friend</p><p>I have written an abnormal amount of "letters" compared to most people. Though, one is abnormal enough in the digital age, no? <br/>Nonetheless, I feel as though I should put an ending to this little soiree into writing I've taken over the last couple of months.<br/>I have not only a passion but a self-perceived talent for writing. I do enjoy this odd form of expression. </p><p>But like all things, this too must come to an end- or rather, a respite. I have written of musings, lessons, and topics that invigorate my very core. But, I have little left to write about, and if it is there, it is the ashes of half-thought thoughts I would hate to breathe onto the world so haphazardly. Perhaps I will return to this art form. In a month, in a year, in ten, I cannot say. If I do return, I will bring new wisdom, and perhaps a healthier outlook on life, befitting of a young man thrown just a bit farther ahead in life.</p><p>A quote I find oft fitting for any departures is the one written by the amazing J.R.R Tolkien, and delivered by Ian McKellen, in his mind-bogglingly great portrayal of Gandalf The White, in Lord of The Rings.</p><p>"I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are an evil." </p><p>Brian Pierce</p>
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